The Shining: Case 1179010
by Luzinin
Summary: After the destruction of the Overlook, Wendy Torrance is sued for its destruction. But there is a motive other than the Overlook, as her attorney soon discovers. Someone in the organization owning the Overlook wants Danny. But who wants him? and why?
1. August 8th 1978

he Shining: CASE NUMBER 1179010

August 8th  
Tuesday

Attorney Micheal DeMonte was about to call it a day, he had over twelve and a half hours of work in one day and he had finished up a case, and delegated it to somebody else to handle; it wasn't his kind of thing, and the defendant was clearly guilty. He'd let somebody else take the fall for it, not himself. DeMonte, Sosa, and Cino was the law firm that Micheal worked at. He was, obviously a partner of the law firm, and hadn't been doing much for the past few months other than getting cases, and delegating them along to somebody else. It had been quite boring to him, a man who enjoyed walking into a court room and absolutely destroying his opponent. He was begging for something that was for him, something that would allow him to go in, make another lawyer make himself look like an idiot, and leave. That was fun, to him anyway. Other's would likely say that his hobby of humiliating others was sadistic, but, well, they could go screw themselves. He'd do as he pleased. He lived in New Hampshire, and that was still apart of the USA, where you're free to do as you pleased.

He was packing his things up in a brief case, files and folders that he didn't need, but decided to take back to his lonely home simply to make himself look important. Well, that and because he'd read his latest Time magazine and Newsweek, and had just finished the book he was reading, and there wasn't anything on television, according to TV Guide anyway. So, he'd read about a case going on at the law firm that he would have nothing to do with, simply to pass the time.  
He heard a knock at his door, and looked to find his secretary, blond haired Ms. Jennifer Adams, standing in the doorway.

"Yes?" He said.

"Someone's here to see you." She answered.

"Does this person have an appointment?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did."

"When?" "When you were busy getting your cigeratte out of your coffee mug this morning."

"Didn't you think I was busy and not paying attention?"

"I told you yesterday too."

"What, when?"

"When you said 'Jen, can you tell me my appointments for tomorrow'?"

Micheal shook his head. "Who is it?"

"Wendy Torrance."

He'd heard that name about seven months ago on CBS. He couldn't remember the entire story though, something about her messed up husband going after both her, Wendy Torrance, and her son, Daniel Torrance. He didn't remember any of the details regarding the story, other than him thinking to himself; "That's gonna piss some people off." He did recall that the two Torrance's became media darlings for two days and then having forgotten about there story all together. Granted, though, so did virtually all of America.

"Alright," He said. "Let her in."

A minute passed, and in this time Micheal locked up his brief case.  
Wendy Torrance walked in, her neck in a brace, Micheal shook her hand, she shook his. He told her his name, she said her, then they sat down, and began to talk business.

She explained the whole thing; that the owners of the Overlook hotel were suing her for the destruction of there hotel. She told him the entire story of that winter. Micheal listened, the entire news story on CBS coming back to him like memories of a good movie. She had stopped once, trembled for a moment, towards the climax of this story. Circling back to the Overlook owners suing her.

"Well," He said, having found the file with information on the Torrance case sitting on the other side of his desk. Case number 1179010. "That's certainly interesting."  
Wendy was quite.

"For over forty million dollars in damages." He added.

Micheal looked up, Miss Torrance's face was stone cold. She was pissed off, didn't think that this suit was justified. Neither did Michael. No way that she could possibly afford to pay forty million dollars, in fact, he was doubting that she could afford him. He coughed for a moment, then went on. "Miss Torrance, I just have one question, why are they suing you? This seems like the worst case for anyone to put you in. I mean, they don't have any witnesses that would support them, not to mention that you've gotta young kid. How old did you say he was?"

"Six."

"Well, six year olds nearly getting killed? I could have a jury crying after telling the whole sto--"  
He stopped, that cold look had become more intense. Better not to piss off a paying client. Especially one that had a case that would get ride of his boredom. He made an ahem like sound, and then went on. "Excuse me," he said. "Anyway, this sounds like an easy to win case, ma'am.

I'd be happy to take this on for you."

"Thank you." She said.

They again shook hands, said good-night, and when she left, Micheal packed his stuff up, told Ms. Adams to go home, and acted upon his own suggestion.

The longest two weeks of his life were starting up, and he was working for a price for this Torrance women that was stupidly small. Why did he take the case? Boredom. That was all, he was just bored, needed something to do, this was the best thing he could do.

* * *

It was 10:32 PM, long passed Danny's bed time. Dick Hallorann was somewhere else in the cabin, reading a good book, Danny assumed, as Danny was supposed to be sleeping. But he hadn't fallen asleep yet, his body was well ready to fall assume, but his mind was running; something that he was getting used to. Dreams were common, dreams that he had been slowly shutting out and beating down. Weeks before, he hadn't wanted to fall asleep because of this, but now, with the dreams nearly dead and buried, he felt he could sleep with some certainty. His thoughts maintaned one single thought: Go to sleep.

His room was darkened by the pale moonlight outside his window.

_Danny... Dannneeee_

_  
Not now Tony. Not now. Can this wait to morning?_

_  
Danny... Dannnneeeee_

_  
Please?_

_  
Come here Danny._

_  
Fine._

From the fuzzy darkness of his shut eyes, slowly blackness became pure darkness without the fuzzy colorful blotches that danced about when one were to close one's eyes. Slowly, that darkness faded away into dim purple light, and he found himself standing in his room in the cabin in Maine. Seemingly distant from Dick and Mommy and everything else in the world.  
"Hello Danny." Tony said, his face appearing out of the dim purple suddenly and without warning.

"Hello Tony." Danny said.

"You should be careful Danny."

"Why? What's going on?"

Danny heard a clunking sound, like the sound of the Bug's drivers door closing. It was coming from his left, and he immediately turned where he would normally see a wall, dully painted a light blue. But there was no wall, only the bug on the outside of some building. Danny looked harder with his eyes, and saw that it was his Mommy getting out of the car, walking towards the building. When she walked in, his view changed to the inside of this building, collections of cubicles lined the walls, each with a name plastered on the tan cubicles.

_Smith. Nelson. Perestov. Miller._

Danny read the names as his mother pass them. He concluded it was an office of some sort, but he couldn't tell what of. After about a minute, his mother came to a woman sitting at a desk in front of a windowed office. Danny couldn't see inside of the office, for there were blinds down upon the windows. But he could see that someone was in there.

The woman at the desk disappeared into the office's doorway for a moment, then she came back, and told Mommy to go ahead into the office. Once she entered the office, Danny looked back at the window. There was something different about it... there were words written on it with some sort of white powder.

M-A-F-I-A

_Mafia?_

Danny turned, expecting to see Tony still standing where he had been a few moments ago. But he was gone, nowhere to be seen around the dim room.

"Tony?"

There was no answer. Only eerie silence. He turned back and now mafia was replaced with a collection of symbols that vaguely resembled English letters. There was an O and then a P, and then a... lower case R? It didn't exactly look like an R, but it could be one. An A, a H, a... backwards N? and then a... three? Another A... and then what looked to be a U... and then another backwards N and then a backwards capital R.

That spelt oprahn3aunr. Definitely not a word.

He thought that it meant something sinister, something ruthless and cruel, but he told himself to think positive, and he shut down those thoughts.

The office flashed in a white light, and the view changed to that of a the exterior of a house that seemed familiar to Danny. The cabin? Yes, it was the outside of his and Mommy's cabin, it was night time, with the moon shining as bright as it could. With only part of its brilliant gray form eclipsed by shadow. It was drizzling with wet rain, and Danny could feel it coming down upon him. Towards the right end of the cabin, he could see lights still shining. Danny could faintly hear laughter from the inside of the house.

A car rampaged off in the distance, and it's bright front lights slowly came into his view. it stopped in front of the Cabin, it's right side exposed to the porch close to the wooden dock that Danny fished on. Two men got out from the back, and a third from the front passenger seat. The man from the passenger seat was tall and buff, with arms that were equal in width with nearly twice the length of Danny's hand, and his head was so bald, it reflected the moonlight. But Danny didn't notice that first, he first noticed that the man was holding something in his hand. If he didn't know any better he would have said that it was a gun.

Yes, it was a gun. It was definitely a gun.

The word _REVOLVER_ came into his head to describe the weapon.  
This bald man's hands were drenched with tattoos of snakes, and when he turned towards the house, his back to Danny, he could see a collection of at least a dozen small skulls tattooed on the back of the man's head.

Danny's eyes widened.

He looked at the men who had gotten out of the back of the car. They two had dozens of tattoos on engraved on there bodies. Snakes and skulls and tigers all painted onto their flesh. They, too, were holding weapons, but these had longer barrels and brown bars below these barrels. The word _SHOTGUN _came to mind.

The three went towards the door of the cabin. One of the men with a _SHOTGUN_ pointed his gun down at the bottom left end of the door, and fired one round. The sound of wood exploding violently shook about the line of cabins, with lights in all of all the cabins around popping to life. The man with the _REVOLVER_ lifted his foot up and smashed it into the door. It went flying into the interior of the cabin, with the two men with_ SHOTGUNS_ following it in.

There were four loud bangs and then the two men ran back towards the car, with the man with the _REVOLVER_ in close pursuit. Once they were all in the car, they sped off, back onto the main road doing at least one hundred miles per hour. People from the other cabins came running towards the house. One man, with graying brown hair went into the cabin, came back out, and threw up. He yelled; "Call the police! Call the damn police!" and then, when his wife reached him he began to whimper; "Oh my god, oh my god, dear lord, dear lord. The kid... Oh god! The kid..."

"Danny..."

Danny turned around, and saw Tony, standing on the edge of the dock.

"What's going on Tony?" He asked, his voice becoming angry. "What are you showing me."

"You know what's going to happen."

He did, but he didn't want to admit it. "But why?"

Danny turned back towards the house, and looked at the window with the light, it was covered in a sick red. "Who--" Danny turned around again, and Tony was far away, standing on the lake's water.

"It's starting again, Danny. Again..."

Danny shook with rage, and turned back towards the house. Why wouldn't Tony answer his questions? Why?!

He fixed his eyes on that red drenched window. The light was still shining. That was it, still shining... just like him, just like Dick.

Danny woke up with a freight, his bed wet, and the digital clock on his bed stand read 8:23, with the light that told Danny it was 8:23 at night. But that didn't make any sense, it had been 10:32 PM with he had last checked it. He closed his eyes and shook his head. The clock changed to 12:24 AM when he opened them again. Danny could hear his Mommy walking in the room, and her and Dick talking. She was thanking him watching Danny while she was at the Attorney's office.

It was Wednesday August 9th, 1978, and everything made sense to Danny, but it still somehow didn't make sense.

* * *


	2. August 9th 1978

August 9th

Wednesday

It was 8:43 AM.

Micheal had to make a phone call. He wasn't entirely sure about the Torrance case. Something about it was wrong, the story Wendy told him about the experience at the Overlook wasn't exactly true, but it wasn't exactly a lie. But that wasn't the reason for the phone call, he had to figure out exactly what district this case should be in. Since the hotel was owned by a company operating out of Chicago, and Torrance was currently living in Maine. So that meant that it could be taken to the Supreme Court. Of course, that meant, since the courts could pick and choose what cases to take, they could throw this out in an instant. No, no, they would throw this out in an instant. So where would it go? If anywhere at all?

He picked up his phone and dialed for his friend at the Department of Justice.

His friend's name was Jane Hyde, she was an attorney that worked in the Antitrust division. In all likelihood, she could answer any questions he had about this case.

Two rings, and then Jane picked up.

"Hello Jane." Micheal said starting off the conversation.

"Hi asshole."

"Nice to hear from you too. Hey, look, I've got a couple of questions for you, about a case I got last night."

"Good for you. Now if you excuse me, I have important matters to attend to, like, you know, actually handling cases instead of sending them off to some newbie."

"Yeah, ah-huh. It'll take five minutes."

"That's nice."

"Remember that story on the news 'bout Nine months ago?"

"Oh of course I do. There were only a thousand of them. But I remember the very specific, undefined story you're talking about."

"About the wife and kid nearly getting killed when snowed in at that Colorado hotel."

"Old news mike."

"They're getting sued."

"By who?"

"The owners of the hotel."

"What for?"

"The destruction of it."

"Wasn't that the husbands fault?"

Micheal smiled. Seems Jane never forgot these sort of stories. They had dated a year ago, when they were dating, Jane would always say; "Isn't that sad?" about a despicable news story. She said that ever since she was a kid she wanted to stop cruel and disgusting stories from ever happening.

That's why she because a lawyer fighting _white collar crime._

"That's what the wife says."

"Do the other guys have any proof?"

"Nope, I'm surprised they're pulling this nine months after the fact. Doesn't make much sense to me."

"What do you need to know?"

"You ever heard of a guy by the name of Sergi Fedostov?"

"A Russian. Who is he?"

"The defense attorneys for the company suing."

"How much do you know about him?"

"Little. I think his parents defected back in the fifties. Everything about him and his family is either a lie or guarded and impossible for me to get to. Also, know anything about Vito Tommaso?"

"The FBI is looking into him. Tax fraud. What's his involvement?"

"He's on the board of directors of the company and is the one who personally filed the suit. Anything else you can tell me about the tax fraud?"

"No." Jane answered firmly.

"Ok. Nice talking to you Jane."

"Ah-huh."

Jane hung up first, and then Micheal did.

This was certainly interesting. A Russian and an Italian who was being investigated by the FBI for tax fraud. Somehow Itilian tax fraud yelled mafia connection all over. He could discredit this entire lawsuit by just using that. The company would likely be investigated, he'd advise for Miss Torrance to counter sue, she would get a hefty amount of money, and so would he. Everyone goes home happy, except for that company of course. Those guys would be pretty ticked off. Ah, well, screw 'em, their own fault for having a mafia member filing a lawsuit on behalf of themselves. Way to be dumb.

He opened up the case file again. Looked for a phone number, found it, and picked up his phone again, put the number in and let it ring. After a minute, a sweet sounding voice came over the phone.

"Mr. Tommaso's office."

"I need to talk to Mr. Tommaso."

"Who should I tell him who is calling?"

"The representative of Wendy Torrance."

"One moment."

He was put on hold.

While he waited he lit up a cigarette.

"Hello?" Came a voice after about thirty seconds of waiting time.

"Hi, I'm Micheal DeMonte, the lawyer for Miss Wendy Torrance. I understand you were the one who filed the suit on behalf of the owners of the Overlook. I just have a couple of questions for you."

"Yeah go head, I'm busy man, make it fast."

"You're being investigated by the FBI."

"I'm aware of that."

"Tax Fraud. I want to know why. What are you hiding?"

"That's private Mr-- uh."

"DeMonte."

"Mr. DeMonte. I'm going to warn you once, there are things you shouldn't be looking into. My personnel business is one of them. We clear?"

No answer from Micheal.

"I said, we clear?"

"Yes we are clear. I know you're hiding something, and you don't want to tell me. I've got friends Mr. Tomasso, friends who can find out what people are hiding. I'll make a deal with you, your type loves to make deals, I'm going to call you tomorrow, you tell me what you're hiding and I keep it to myself, or I find it out for myself, and I tell the cops. We clear?"

No answer from Mr. Tomasso.

"I said, we clear?"

"I bet we are." Tomasso finally responded. "Good day to you Mr. DeMonte."

"How's the waste management business?"

_Click, click._

XXXXXXXXXX

Danny woke up about the same time Micheal made his first phone call to Jane. He had fallen back to sleep after his experience with Tony in about a half-hour, had a nightmare about the Overlook. After changing for a second time, as he had peed his pants for a second time that night, he decided to go sleep on the couch. His sheets had been wet after the first dream, so he had ripped them off and slept on the bed with his blanket acting as sheets. These were now wet too.

The dreams about the overlook had always seemed distant and non-harmful, but this one seemed closer and more violent. Closer then it had been ever before. He wondered if that meant anything, but he decided that it didn't. It was nothing important, never meant other than he had been scared and he couldn't forget he had been scared. Simple as that.

He had been awoken at 7:30 AM by his mother who had came over to couch and ruffled his hair.

"Trouble sleeping?" She asked, holding up his wet blanket and sheets.

He nodded his head.

"Bad dream?"

He nodded his head. Not saying exactly what it was he had dreamed, no use scaring her. Not everything tony showed him came true. Most of the time they did, but not always, not always. He knew Tony was wrong this time. He definitely was wrong this time, Danny concluded. It didn't mean anything.

He had fallen back to sleep right after that.

Less than an hour later he got up, changed, got his fishing poll, and went outside. Once on the porch, Mommy told him to go back inside and eat something first. So he went back in and ate a bowl of frosted flakes while listening to the radio.

The Rolling Stones were on, playing Miss You. He didn't like it, so he shut it off.

After having finally finishing his bowl, he went back out, hugged his Mommy, and went fishing on the dock.

Danny had had the same routine through April until now, eat breakfast, fish, eat lunch, fish, go inside and read something, then come back out and sit on the porch, then go back to fishing until Dick came over. He had been doing this for almost four months straight, and hadn't once become bored.

He spent the entire day until Lunch fishing. When he was finished, per his routine, he went back outside and fished a little bit more.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Micheal still needed to make that phone call to Sergi Fedostov. He looked up his number, and discovered that Sergi's office was in Boston, which was something that Mr. DeMonte found extremely odd. Why did a Chicago business hire a Boston lawyer?

After putting in the number, he heard it ring twice, and then the phone was answered.

"Hello?" Said a voice with a mildly Russian accent.

"Hello, I'm Micheal DeMonte, is this Sergi Fedostov's office?"

"Yes it is."

"May I speak with Mr. Fedostov?"

"This is Mr. Fedostov."

"I represent Miss Wendy Torrance, who is being sued by your employers."

"Yes, yes, I assume you would call Mr.DeMonte. Are you calling regarding the district this case will be debated in."

"Yes."

"My employers are opening an office here in Boston on the 11th, in order to keep this in the first district court."

Micheal was surprised to hear this. What were they doing in Boston?

"I would be happy to talk to you about this in more detail. Can you come to my office tomorrow?"

"Let me check with my secretary." Pause. He didn't have anything big going on, and he knew that, so he said; "All clear for tomorrow."

"Good good Mr. DeMonte."

Mr. Fedostov gave Micheal directions to his office once DeMonte entered Boston. It was roughly an hour drive to Boston from his office, and he had gone down to Boston from time to time, so he didn't think he'd have much of a problem getting there.

"Thank you Mr. Fedostov. I look forward to talking to you tomorrow."

"I do as well Mr. DeMonte. Good day."

"Good day."

_Click click._

X X X X X X X X X X

It was 4:45 when Dick arrived to see Wendy and Danny. Danny was far away enough from the porch that he didn't really hear what Wendy and Dick were talking about, but he got the sense it was nothing but casual talk. _How are you? Ok. That's great. How's Danny? Why don't you go see him? I think I will._

"Hey doc." Dick said when he came over to the dock. "Catch anything?"

"Nope." Danny replied. Dick noticed he was slightly distant, and he had that smell of Oranges in his noise again.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Danny didn't want to alert anyone about Tony. It didn't mean anything, Tony had been wrong before, so he could be wrong right now.

But could he take that chance?

Yes, yes he could. Tony could be wrong, and he would be wrong.

"I'm sure." Danny said.

But Tony had _never _been wrong. Danny didn't know it, but Daddy _had _been in that accident a long time ago. Tony had shown him that, and Tony had been right, Danny just didn't know it.

"Danny, did you--"

And Danny broke his silence on the matter. He didn't even let Dick finish the sentence. _Did you see Tony?_

Yes, yes he did. He explained everything to Dick. The whole dream, the bald and tattooed men, their weapons and how he had known what these weapons were. How they had walked up to the cabin with weapons in hand, busted the door down, and had killed everyone who was in it. How that man had come over, went into the house and started going crazy when he came out.

_"Oh my god, oh my god, dear lord, dear lord. The kid... Oh god! The kid..."_

When the story was over, Danny clung to Dick whispering words so fast that neither of the two could completely understand. Danny began to sob, but collected himself promptly. A month ago, Dick had said that if he ever needed help, ever was in trouble, to come to him, and to just let it all out.

"Doc, relax, Doc. Just relax. Those guy's can't get ya, they're just a dream. They aren't real, and never will be real. Alright? Nothing bad is going to happen to your mom, to me, or to you. Everyone is safe. Ok? Everyone is always going to be safe."

_There had been four gun shots._

_Everyone is always going to be safe._

After what had happened to Danny and Wendy months ago, Dick hoped that nothing ever happened to either of them again. Especially the kid.

"Ok, doc?"

"Ok."


	3. August 10th 1978

**August 10th****, 1987**

**Thursday**

Sergi's office smelled fishy to Micheal, like someone had dragged a thousand pounds of tuna or salmon or something along those lines, left in it the office for a weekend. Or, perhaps, it was the fish market that was directly below them.

"Can I offer you drink Mr. DeMonte?" Were the first words when Micheal entered the man's one roomed office. It was about the same size as DeMonte's back in Manchester. The only difference in the offices, were the paintings, which DeMonte didn't have back in Manchester, and the positioning of the light brown oak desk. It was in the center of the room. DeMonte had placed his in the corner.

"No thank you Mr. Fedostov." Miceal replied.

"Suit yourself, Mr. DeMonte." He said, and took a glass of what appeared to be Polish Vodka out of his refrigerator.

"I thought Russians hated Polish Vodkal."

"I'm not actually from Russia."

"Where are you from?"

"Poland."

"Ah I should've guessed."

"My Mother married Russian army officer after great war. She moved with him back to great 'motherland' after he was reassigned." He said. "But you did not come here to hear my stories about my mother and father. You came here about your case."

"Yes, Mr. Fedostov. I want to ask you a couple of questions."

"As you say; 'Fire away.'"

They went through quick formalities. What court, blah blah blah. All the boring stuff.

They eventually got to the good stuff.

"Do you think that you can win this?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." DeMonte said. "This seems kinda, weird. In all my years in law; I've never worked, or heard about, anything that about anyone _ever_ getting charged with something thatwhere; 

_One _the only eye witness declared that the father _had_ gone mad. _Two_; the only way that you're going to win this is if you destroy the integrity of the victims and the witness."

"This is law Mr. DeMonte—"

"I took the liberty of going to the local library, and I dug up a newspaper clipping after Ms. Wendy Torrance and Mr. Daniel Torrance were rescued by a Mr. Dick Hallorann. I got a picture of the three witnesses or the two victims and one witness, or whatever you want to call them." DeMonte took out his brief case, and slipped one photo, looking like it was cut out of a newspaper. "Richard Hallorann is in the right most in the foreground of the picture."

Sergi's eyes darted towards that end of the picture.

"Black man." Observed Sergi.

"Yes he is." Quipped Micheal "Ms. Wendy Torrance is in the center. She has a neck brace on."

Sergi's eyes went towards that end on the picture.

"Behind her is her son, Daniel Torrance. He's trying to push the wheelchair. Five years old in the picture, he's six now."

"He must be brave child."

"Mr. Fedostov, you're going after the creditability, the integrity, oh hell, I'll cut the crap; you're going to go into the court room, and you and I both know what you're going to do to both of the Torrance's. You're going to _destroy them_. You're going to rip every single piece of their soul up until you can serve it on hamburger. Personally, Mr. Fedostov, I could never do that. Especially not to a kid and a mom whose gone through the kinda stuff that soldiers and marines can sympathize with. Mr. Fedostov, you're going to go into the court room, and you're going to tell one thing to the jury; 'these two people,' no—no, I'm forgetting about Mr. Hallorann. 'These three people, do not have any real courage.' I know they have real courage. I'm sure of it. No—I know it."

"Have you talked with Daniel?"

"I—"_Crap he's got me. _"No, haven't."

"I suggest you give him character interview before I do."

"Why?"

"I think you'll find him bit odd."

"And how do you know this?"

"Let's say, Mr. DeMonte, he is very special boy. And many people know about him, and have known about him much longer than this hotel business came about."

"What do you mean?"

"I have warning for you. People are involved in this business that you do not want to, uh, how you say? Do not mess with."

"Thank you for your time Mr. Fedostov."

"My pleasure Mr. DeMonte."

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when DeMonte arrived back at the firm. He immediately went to talk with his secretary, Miss Adams, to arrange what desperately needed to get done.

"Hello again Mr.DeMonte." She said when he arrived.

"Hello Jen." He replied. "I need you to get Wendy Torrance and her boy down here tomorrow."

"And should I give them a reason?"

"Character interview."

"Alright I'll get right on that."

DeMonte went to his office, but before he could get through the door;

"Mr. DeMonte?"

He sighed and turned around. "Yes Jen?"

"How old is Danny?"

"The Torrance kid?"

"Yes."

"Six."

"Does he really need a character interview?"

DeMonte was quite.

"Fedostov thinks he's 'very special boy.' I want to know why he thinks so."

DeMonte walked into his office, ignoring his sectaries plead for more answers.


	4. August 11th 1978

August 11, 1978

Friday

The secretaries were in love with Danny, noted Micheal. They liked seeing a fresh face, a face that wasn't bitter and battered like the old grumpy men they worked for.

"Mr. DeMonte." Wendy had began to say, with Micheal only half listening, he was more focused on a file he had gotten only five minutes before The two Torrance's had arrived.

This file was about Sergi Fedostov, what little he could get about him from his friend at the immigration office in Washington.

This man seemed clean, but from the conversation he had had with him yesterday, he doubted it.

"Yes Ms. Torrance?" Micheal said lifting his head from the file.

"Why do you need to see Danny?"

"Character Interview."

"And what's that?"

"You see, I want to make sure that your child is… well, infallible."

"What do you mean?"

"I just want to make sure that Mr. Fedostov, the guy whose going to be going after you, me, and your son."

"Danny?" Wendy interjected. "Why is he a target?"

"He was a witness. And in something like this, you see, Fedostov has to destroy the credibility of the witnesses. He has to make you look like, well, I guess the best analogy is that he'll have to make both you and your son look like Nixon. You following me so far?"

Wendy nodded, and that pissed off look returned to her face that Micheal remembered from their first encounter.

"Well, now I think the best way around this is to use a 'deep throat' sort of thing, minus the secrecy of course. We need someone who'll look really cute and innocent to the jury—" That pissed off look got cold. Wendy had figured out what he was going to say, and obvious didn't like having her son used as a tool, but Micheal disregarded that. Law was like war, you can't be afraid to sacrifice or use somebody. "That way, we know that the jury will believe what this person has said, and thus, the creditability will not be in harm's way."

"I see."

"Jen?!"

Jen came into the office.

"Yes, Mike?"

"Bring Danny in would you?"

"Yes sir."

She disappeared for a moment, and then Danny walked into the room.

"Hello Danny." Micheal said. "I'm Micheal DeMonte." He gestured at the vacant seat next to Wendy. "Take a seat."

The child looked at his mother, and then walked over to that seat.

"Can you answer a few questions for me?"

"Yes sir." Danny answered, in a small, soft, formal voice. He was well mannered.

"Ok, Danny. Real easy questions, Just going to check out every bodies story about what happened. _Exactly_ what happened. Can you tell me that."

"Yes sir."

"Ok then, Danny, go ahead. Just tell me exactly—it's very important that it's _exactly_—what happened at the Overlook Hotel. Can you do that for me Danny?"

Something about Danny changed, like he was very focused on something beyond Micheal's desk. He briefly angled his head so he could see what Danny was looking at, but he didn't see anything. Nothing at all, just a drably painted wall.

"Can you do that for me Danny?" Micheal asked again.

Still a blank stare at something behind Micheal.

"Doc?" Wendy asked.

His head turned to look at his mother. He looked dumbfounded and pale, confused by something like a puzzle, and his face communicated what he was thinking.

_Don't you see it?_

Those words entered her head, but they weren't her thoughts. They were Danny's! They were Danny's thoughts.

_Don't you see it?_

_No, I don't._

He looked back at the wall, and this time, his eyes widened.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Danny was somewhere else, _Mrs. Torrance._

Sure, his mind, or perhaps his soul, was still in the office, and Mr. DeMonte was still talking, but Danny either didn't hear him, or wasn't comprehending the words. Instead, he was reading the words that were painted in red and gold on the wall behind Mr. DeMonte's desk.

But what they spelt wasn't a word.

_oprahn3aunr_

Those letters faded away, and were replaced by _MAFIA_, but this time painted onto the wall in green white and red.

Those letters too faded and he could hear his mother's voice.

_Doc?_

Her voice seemed so distant, like she was calling to him from across a long plain, a long snowy plain. Like the one's on the Colorado Mountains…

Like the one at the Overlook.

Where everything went wrong.

He turned to her, and his face said everything that was going through his mind. He sent something to her, and he didn't know at first.

_Don't you see it?_

When it was gone, into the thoughts and mind of his mother, he realized exactly what had happened, and wondered what would happen.

Mother and son stared at each other for a moment, neither saying anything. And Danny then understood that his Mommy didn't see those words painted on the wall.

He turned back towards that wall, and there was nothing there. He made a breath of relief.

"Danny?" Mr. DeMonte was saying. "Is everything ok."

His face regained its color, and the six year old seemed to be at peace. "I'm fine, sir." He said, and shook his head, shaking off the word _MAFIA_.

"Need a glass of water?"

"Sure."

"Jen?"

Miss Adams walked in, and the room lit up with something, something indescribable, and something that only Danny could notice. "Yes Mike?"

"Get a glass of water."

Miss Adams disappeared to a water cooler, with her that indescribable light.

She shined!

He shut his eyes. The only other person he had ever met who shined was Dick, so this was a surprise to him. He knew that there were others like him, but didn't think he'd notice until he was older.

But Miss Adams shined!

She returned a moment later, and handed a paper cup to Danny.

"Thank you ma'am." He said to her.

She smiled. "You're welcome Danny."

_Is everything ok?_

_Yes._

"Call me Jen." She said to Danny and Wendy, and then walked out of the room.

Danny drank the water, and then focused on that wall again, just for a second. Just to be sure that it was all gone and that there wasn't anything to worry about.

But something in red ink was bubbling on the wall, they were words. English letters, not the messed up symbols that read _oprahn3aunr_, or _MAFIA. _These letters spelt something that was much more recognizable, and something that Danny completely understood, and completely understood why to be afraid of this one simply word.

_REDRUM_

The letters danced around the wall and then came together to form one frightening word.

_MURDER_

Danny's body went limp, and he fell backwards, fainting out of fear and confusion and shock.

_Every thing isn't ok anymore._

X X X X X X X X X X X X

Danny awoke in a small examining room, with his mother by his side, holding a wet cloth to his head. What had happened? He didn't remember much, he and Mommy had arrived at the law firm, he knew that, and he was waiting outside some lawyer's office, he couldn't remember the name. Everything after that was a blurry mess.

His head hurt, a lot.

He was laying down on a small examining table. He felt dizzy and light, and, well, just not quite right. Like something was missing. What day was it again? Was it Thursday? No--no, it was Friday. The 12th, yes, that was it. It was the 12th of...

Uh-oh.

August? Yes. It was August.

"Mrs. Torrance?" Said a voice from the other end of the room. Danny couldn't see who said it, but he could tell it was a man's voice. "We'll stitch him up now."

Danny, out of the corner of his eyes, could see Mommy stand up and move out of the way for another man. The cloth was still on Danny's head, but was removed when that man sat down.

"Hello Danny," He said. "I'm Doctor Mitchell. I'm going to stitch you up today." He had a small syringe in his hand. "This'll feel, well, a little weird."

Doctor Michell put the needle on his arm, and pressed down. He felt some pressure, and a sting, like one that came after a wasp stings you. But that went away quickly, and so did Danny's focus. It felt like he was floating, but he knew he was anchored down in reality. Where there wasn't any _MAFIA _or _oprahn3aunr _or... murder here. Nothing crazy on the plainly gray painted walls or the eggshell painted ceilings. Nope. Everything was normal here. No ghost stories or anything like that here.

"Nasty fall you had there Danny." Doctor Mitchell said, while doing something that Danny couldn't really comprehend or feel. "Do you remember what day it is?"

"Friday?" He answered softly.

"The Month?"

"August"

"And how about the date?"

"The 12th."

"The Year?"

"1978."

"What's your last name?"

"Torrance."

"How about your middle name?"

"Anthony."

"Ok Danny. Now just relax for a bit, ok?"

"Ok."

X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Danny was released from the hospital on the same day he entered it after receiving stitches.

Mommy told him that when he fainted in Mr. DeMonte's office that his head had landed on the edge of Mr. DeMonte's desk, which was quite sharp, and he received a deep cut on his forehead when he fell. He was fine though, Danny told his Mommy, and she knew that too. They justed needed him to get his cut healed. And that didn't take to long.

They stopped at a McDonalds in Manchester before leaving back for Rangely, Maine. Danny got a cheese burger and Wendy got a salad.

They arrived back at Rangely by 9:45 PM. Dick was still working at the restaurant, but had left note.

_How are you two doing? Dick  
_

Danny smiled after seeing the Note.

_We're fine. _He thought, and pushed it towards the restaurant. Dick would hear it.

It was late and so Danny went to bed. He did not dream of murder or of _MAFIA _or of _oprahn3aunr. _He didn't hear or see, or even smell Tony. He slept without any dark dreams.


	5. August 12th 1978

August 12th 1978  
Saturday

There was a general store owned by a tall and lean black man named Stan, and Wendy usually visited the place every week or so with Danny to collect bread, milk, and eggs. Stan had taken a liking to Danny, and Danny liked Stan. Seemed everywhere he went, people liked him.

"Hello Wendy." Stan said when she arrived at the relatively small store.

"Hi Stan, how have you been?"

"Not bad." He replied.

Wendy picked up the usual dose of eggs and milk, and then went towards the bread.

"Where's Danny?"

"Back at the cabin with the next door neighbors."

"Ah, well. Tell him Stan says hi."

Wendy collected the bread and went towards the counter. Stan had already ringed up the correct price, and Wendy handed him the money.

She noticed a small barrel, like that of a shotgun, on the other end of the counter.

"Bought a gun?" She asked.

His eyes darted to his shotgun.

"This Wendy? Nah, I've had this thing for 'while now."

"Really? I never noticed it before."

"My dad used to work in a store like this. Got robbed at gunshot three times. I'd like to, well, fight back." He said, and placed the money into his cash register. "Get that brace off soon?"

"The 23rd."

"That's good." Stan handed back her change.

"Well, I'll see you next week Wendy."

"Bye Stan."

X X X X X X X X X X X

Joey Morris, who was twelve years old, was the son of James Mershaw and Diane Morris. Joey was the youngest of the Mershaw and Morris children, his older siblings being a duo of twins named Paul and Mary, both of whom were seventeen years old. Diane divorced James in the winter of 1972 and moved from Boston to Maine, where she was writing a series of crime novels, one of which Mommy had read. Diane was successful and was doing somewhat well for herself.

Joey, along with Paul and Mary, came up here with their Mother for the summer, and would be leaving for school in Boston on the twenty fourth.

_The day after the twenty-third…_

Mommy trusted Joey to keep an eye on Danny while she went out to the store in town. Joey had told her he'd be happy to. He was a responsible kid, he could keep an eye on Danny. All he did anyway was fish.

"Nasty fall?" Joey asked upon seeing the edge of a scar on Danny's forehead.

"Yeah."

"Hurts?"

"Had a real bad headache awhile ago."

Danny was sitting on the Dock, while Joey was on its edge, looking out across what seemed to be a vast distance across the lake. His attention was on a certain boat.

"Have you ever caught anything here?" Danny asked him.

"Once, last year."

"What was it?"

"Small fish, really tiny."

"Oh."

"Have you caught anything Danny?"

"No."

"You'll catch something eventually."

"I guess."

Danny reeled in his fishing hook, examined to ensure that the worm was still attached, and dropped it back into the water.

"You ever feel like that nothing matter's Danny?"

"What'd you mean?"

"I don't know what I mean. But don't things seem out of place sometimes? Like things that shouldn't be connected to one another are actually just one big chain, resulting in one event after another, and everything is just leading towards one large climax."

"Like a book."

"Yeah. Like a book. Just one thing leads to another, building and building. And everything we is futile to change this climax, whatever it is. Seems a little unfair doesn't it? That no matter how hard you work to prevent something, you can never actually prevent it."

Danny frowned.

_It's starting again Danny._

"I dunno Danny. I guess I just think too much about this kind of stuff."

_You should be careful Danny._

The two were quite, and Danny reeled his line in again, studied the hook, and lowered it back down into the water.

"Does Paul ever catch anything?" Danny asked, changing the subject.

"Hmm—" Joey turned back around, facing Danny. "Oh, yeah, quite a bit. Most of the fish are out in the middle of the lake. We ate fish almost every night this summer. You eat Trout for three months, and you'll hate anything that comes out of that water."

"I guess."

"You ate fish a lot too, don't you?"

Again, silence.

Joey meant nothing by it, Danny knew. No need to get angry about it.

Tony had been wrong before.

_Once._

When Daddy had, didn't have it rather, that accident. Tony had been wrong then. So he could be wrong again.

_You know I was right Danny._

"Where is Paul anyway?" Danny asked.

"Off fishing on the boat again," Joey turned back around. "I can still see him, and I think he's pulling up another trout, wonderful."

Danny felt a tug, and his bobber dipped below the water. He pulled his fishing rod upwards, and reeled it in. A fish, maybe four or five inches long was thrown out of the water and into the air. It bobbled around, trying to get free from the painful hook that was forcing it to hang like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop.

But the hook wasn't in its mouth, it was in the eye.

"Um, Joe, I think I caught something."

Joe turned back around. "Coagulations."

"Can you go get the scissors?"

"Don't know how to get the fish off?"

"No, the hook's stuck."

"It's supposed to be."

"It's supposed to be stuck in his eye?"

"Oh, yeah, good point. I'll go." Joey went to the other end of the dock, and opened up Danny's little tackle box, took out a pair of scissors, and came back to Danny.

He kept staring at the red left side of the fish.

Yuck, all bloody and messy and painful. Joey came back, a few moments later. He leaned over towards the fishing rod, and snipped the scissors at the fishing line a few inches above the hook stuck in the fish's eye.

Gravity took over, and the fish went into the water again, taking the hook and fish line with it, along with the worm. There was a small trail of red that followed its retreat from its torturer.

It dissipated away in a few seconds.

"Want me to help you put on another hook?" Joey asked him.

"No thanks." Danny said. _I'm done torturing animals._

"Alright."

X X X X X X X X X X X

Micheal worked on the weekends but he always gave Miss Adams Saturday and Sunday off. She, unlike him, was dating and had a life.

He could never remarry, that just wasn't him. No sir, marriage didn't work out for him twice before, and it wouldn't work a third time, he had stopped trying after Jane. The best substitution for a social life was a work life, or at least that's what he figured. And it was what he was good at, making arguments and such, not making small talk and that kind of crap.

_Nice weather we're having._

_It's been raining, the whole week._

…

…

_Crappy weather we're having. _

Yeah, he just wasn't good at that.

He arrived at the firm at six-thirty. On weekends, the place was deserted until seven-thirty or sometimes eight, depending how close to a holiday and the season. In the summers, like it was now, he'd have at least an hour of quite to himself, in the winter, he'd have an hour and a half to himself. On Sundays it was even worst, or better, depending on how you looked at it. A lot of lawyers didn't show up until after Church, or sometimes not at all.

When Micheal went into his office, coffee cup in hand, along with a white binder with the letters _1179010 _neatly labeled on its spine, he found a folder, labeled _INVESTIGATION_, sitting on his desk.

He set his coffee down next to it, atop of a copy of Newsweek, and the _1179010 _binder atop of a IN box. He opened it, and saw a letter on one side, and a thick report on the other, titled TOMMASSO CASE. He pulled the letter out first, and read that.

_Dear Mr. DeMonte,_

_You will not meet me in person. Nor will I meet you in person. I understand that you may have an interest in the Tomasso case. This is a large case and is being kept quite by the director of the FBI. Mr. Tomasso has a history with the Italian Mafia, and, according to the investigation, has considerable influence over a many important Don's. He, also, has contacts in a number of social services, and these Contacts, we expect, also have some sort of a connection to the Italian Mafia. _

_I will lead you with a report every Saturday, one which also goes to the Director of the FBI about this case. Like I said, this investigation is being kept as quite as possible, and the Director has a considerable amount of interest in it._

_I hope this helps you in what it is you are doing._

The letter wasn't signed, and typed on a typewriter. No way to figure out who wrote it, then.

And it didn't bother him, like it should have. It would help him. If he could prove that the man who filed the suit was a crook, that could discredit his case. Which, in DeMonte's view, was already pretty stupid.

He put the letter back into the folder, and pulled out the report.

It was about two hundred pages long. By One-Thirty he finished it.

From what he could see, Tomasso had contacts in child services, social working groups from Chicago to Portland Maine, the NSA. But more importantly, he had done done a lot of work for the Mafia; extortion, money laundering, funding human trafficking in almost every major city that had a port. Interesting enough, Tomasso used to be a lawyer, and had worked taxes for a few mafia bosses.

And then, another just real fun fact for Tomasso, he hadn't filed a tax return since 1975. Way to go buddy, way to pull an Al Capone. Way to humiliate yourself and look like an idiot. Way to go, the Waste Management industry would be quite pissed at him for that.

Micheal worked on other things until about seven-thirty PM. He checked to see what the lawyers working under him, six of them, were doing through status reports, which the firm required each lawyer to fill out each week. Micheal hadn't done his, and stopped looking at others at Five-Thirty, spend the remainder of his time writing that, and then departed at Seven-thirty.

He arrived back at his cozy two story home at Seven-fifty. cooked himself a late dinner of Tomato soup, and ate it while reading The Boston Globe.

X X X X X X X X X X X

Danny slept with relative ease on the night of the 12th. He did not hear Tony calling for him.

_Danny… Danneeee…_

Nor did he dream of the Overlook. He slept with a look that projected the exact opposite of what he was. He wasn't naïve, at peace with himself, nor was he unafraid like his sleeping form suggested. He knew things that most six year olds wouldn't be able to grasp, he was conflicted with himself, and he was a little scared. Scared that Tony would be right, again, and that everyone in the cabin would die, soon, probably, _murdered._ That _he_ would die.

_The kid... Oh god! The kid..._

That was what scared him most.

_Dear lord, Dear lord._

He did dream that night, but not of anything scary or macabre. A happy dream of him having one of those happy days with his father, way before all of this crazy stuff happened. Before the Overlook.

Bliss, could be found anywhere, even in fantasies.


	6. August 13th 1978

August 13th, 1978

Sunday

Sunday started off slow for Micheal, without having anything to do at work, he decided to take the day off and not really work on anything. He awoke at Eight-thirty, ate breakfast, got his mail and newspaper, and watched the television.

His mail always amused him. It was always addressed to 'Michael' DeMonte, instead of 'Micheal' DeMonte. There was a story behind his uncommon name. It looked like a misspelling of the name Michael, but, no, not really, sort of, but not exactly. He was born in 1930 to a well-educated family, but the nurse who asked Mrs. DeMonte what his son's name would be misspelled 'Michael.' And the name Micheal, spoken Mick-Heal, stuck throughout his life. His father always called him Mick-Heal, but his mother always called him Michael. He introduced himself as Mick-Heal, and most people called him that without question or commenting; "What an odd name." It seemed to just be accepted. Go figure.

At noon he went out to a local movie theater.

He paid for the movie ticket, popcorn, and a medium sized diet coke. The movie started at twelve forty-five, while he arrived at the theater at Twelve-fifteen. He fell asleep while the theater filled up with a few more people. He didn't dream, because he wasn't really asleep, dozing really, and he didn't dream when he dozed.

He came back to reality when the theaters sound system blared on.

_A little closer now._

A trailer came on and ran for a minute and a half. He didn't catch the film's name, but did notice that it stared Dustin Hoffman, and he had enjoyed the actor's role in _All the Presidents Men_ and made note to see it.

After another threesome of trailers, the actual movie came on. _And Justice For All. _About a lawyer defending a judge in 

court, it was a great film. And in the climax of the film, the lawyer goes nuts betraying his client and telling them all that he was guilty.

_No you're out of order! The whole system's out of order!_

And that, Micheal DeMonte decided, was true. The system of justice did seem weird to him. The system of law and justice was subject to so much debate that it was possible, if not inevitable, that justice wouldn't always be served. And if that was the case, then what was the point for him to be a lawyer? He couldn't pick and choose his clients. Some of them perhaps shouldn't be sued, and had actually been responsible for the damages that were done, or perhaps they were. He could never tell, and would likely only be able to tell in certain cases. If that was true, then what if he was wrong with the Torrance Case? What if the story wasn't true? What if Mr. Hallorann and Danny and Wendy Torrance were all actually a distraction to Jack Torrance, thus resulting in the destruction of the Overlook, and they did actually deserve to have what little remaining money they had left.

Of course the Corporation had plenty of money to operation even with the money it had lost from the Overlook hotel. Surely it could survive without such a investment, surely the loss of however much money was poured into that place wasn't that much, and the corporation could profit its share holders anyway. Yes, of course, and however much Wendy Torrance and Richard Hallorann had paled in comparison to how much the Corporation had anyway, and wouldn't help much with the losses.

And then there was the kid.

If Micheal had done his guess work right, the required fees that Mrs. Torrance (Ms. Torrance? He couldn't figure out what to call her) would have to pay in regards to losing the suit would likely result in Wendy being deemed unable to care for her child, and Danny would be whisked away by Social Services. Wendy would be stuck in near the poverty line. With all assets taken away, no car, no house, no money, she would be forced to accept welfare and minimum wage, and with no family to garner support from, she would have to use the life insurance left behind by Jack Torrance. Of course, this was assuming the Corporation 

didn't take that too. If they didn't, it would run out eventually. It was possible that social services would deem her unable to care for Danny, and whisk the child away.

Something about that seemed wrong to Micheal, and if such a thing were to come true, it would be because of the Corporation, and that would be wrong.

Micheal left the theater sometime mid way into the credits, purchased tickets for _The Revenge of the Pink Panther_ and enjoyed the film. He went back, got a refill for his drink and popcorn, purchased another ticket for the second _Jaws _film and enjoyed himself.

X X X X X X X X

Danny's day was equally slow. He woke up at ten, and, no longer feeling like fishing, he took out a few books and tried to read them. He was reading at a third grade level and had only been reading for under a year. This book was a dumbed-down biography of President John F. Kenndy. He finished the book out on the porch somewhere around four-thirty, with his mother next to him reading a novel named _Carrie_ by a man named Steven King. Danny hadn't heard of him before, but Mommy said that this man could become a really big writer someday. So long as he doesn't get killed or hit by a car or anything.

They brought the radio outside and listened to that and the sounds of boats floating around the lake while they read there own book. A intellectual sight, that it was, of a mother and child doing nothing but reading. Of course, that reading was also to the tunes of _Commodores_ and _The Rolling Stones_. Soul and Rock music seemed to be a funny combination to Danny.

A little while after Danny finished reading his book on JFK, Joey appeared and asked Danny if he wanted to go out fishing on the boat with him and Paul. Danny declined. Joey said "Ok, maybe another time." And walked off.

Danny could tell that Mommy didn't want him to go on a boat, not after having fainted at the law firm. He hadn't told her about that dream he had had four days ago, and he hadn't told her about what he had seen in that office. Perhaps he should…

_MURDER_

_MAFIA_

_Oprahn3aunr_

Yes. Yes he should definitely tell her. That was why Tony was telling him of what was going to happen, whenever that was, so that he could warn everyone and prevent it.

"Mommy?"

"Yes Danny?"

"In Mr.DeMonte's office."

"What did you see Danny?"

Mommy knew well that Danny shined, but it was a quite subject, and neither of them used that word in that context, or, at least, they hadn't done that since January.

"The words Mafia, and Murder, and something that was spelt really funny, I don't think it was a word, it was, like—I don't know. Just weird. It doesn't spell anything. Just a bunch of letters I guess."

"_Murder?_"

"Yes."

Danny noticed this strange glimpse in her eye. What was it? Confusion? Or maybe fear?

"_Murder,_ Danny?"

"Like _Redrum."_

The two stared, and were quite for the longest time. _I can't get no satisfaction_, _Yellow Submarine, _and _Imagine_ came on and finished playing in their period of silence. When the peaceful and simple melody of _Imagine _was over, Mommy went back to her book, and Danny turned towards the lake.

He could see Paul's boat, and Joey pulling up a fish of some sort from the water. He imagined Joey's face mixed with happiness and disappointment.

"Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"There was another thing."

"What's that?"

"Tony."

She put her book mark back in _Carrie_.

"I saw Tony."

"How long ago?"

"On Wednesday."

"Did he show you something?"

Danny didn't say anything.

_The kid!_

"Danny?"

_The window was red._

_The light was still shining._

He told her about the dream. About the three men, about the two that went in, and the four gun shots. And—and—

_Oh my god, oh my god, dear lord, dear lord. The kid... Oh god! The kid..._

When his story was over, Mommy came over hugged her kid, and went in to make herself and her 'bright boy' a sandwich.

The two would not mention that dream for the rest of the night. And Danny wouldn't mention it to Dick when he arrived for a small chat before he went to focus on his work at the Red Arrow Lodge.

X X X X X X X X X

_Danny… Danny… Daneeee…_

It was late, and Danny had been trying to sleep for over two hours. He was tired, but his brain refused to rest. And Tony was here, goading him to come with him; to go see something else that was just plain terrible.

_No Tony. Not tonight. Leave me alone._

_Come here Danny… I want to show you something._

_Go away Tony. I don't want to see._

_I want to show you something Daneeeeee._

_I don't care! _

_This is important Danny…_

_I don't care!_

_Danny… Daneeeee_

_GO AWAY TONY._

Tony's voice stopped. It didn't return for quite a few minutes.

_I'm sorry Danny…_

That creepy, almost floating voice, disappeared and was replaced by something else. It wasn't eerie silence, and it was ear shattering noise.

It was his own voice. But his lips weren't moving, he was stuck in his soft bed, not moving, his eyes sealed tight, his mouth sealed tight. He wasn't talking, so it wasn't his voice—

_Please don't leave…_

—it wasn't his voice. Nope. It wasn't him talking. It wasn't him—

_Don't leave me… please… Don't go…_

—But it _was _his voice. He _was_ talking. But it wasn't really _him._ It was—another him? Yes, that was it. He wasn't talking, it was _another_ him talking. _Another_ Daniel Torrance talking, he was talking and it wasn't him talking at the same time.

Maybe if he opened his eyes he'd see what was going. Yes, that was a good idea, he should just open his eyes.

So he did.

He saw a limp forearm, covered in a crimson liquid.

_Blood._

He shut his eyes. He wouldn't open them again, not now, not with that _blood_ covered hand. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

_No—no! Don't leave! __Please Daddy, let her stay. Please let her stay. I don't want to be alone. Please Daddy, please? _

Was he talking about Mommy? And Daddy was dead. How could he be talking to Daddy?

_I don't want to be alone. It's cold when you're alone. I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be cold. Please… please..._

Danny, the one who wasn't talking, could hear something faintly, it wasn't in the room. It was outside the cabin.

_Call the Police! Call the damn police!_

Oh god…

The sound of vomiting.

_Please Daddy… please…_

That was all Danny heard for a minutes, or maybe hours, he didn't know.

_Please Daddy, let her stay with me. Please Daddy?_

For minutes and minutes and minutes…

_Please Daddy, let her stay with me._

For minutes and minutes and minutes…

_I don't want to be cold Daddy…_

For minutes and minutes and minutes…

Until someone else came in the room, followed by many other men, or perhaps women, they came closer to Danny, the sobbing sad one, the one pleading with his dead father for his dead mother's soul.

_I'm sorry._

_Mommy?_

_I'm so sorry, son. Your Mommy is._

_DON'T SAY IT!!_

_DON'T SAY IT!!_

_DON'T SAY IT!!_

_DON'T SAY IT!!_

Danny woke up in his bed, wet, once more.


End file.
